


11/01/2019: This Is Your Life

by pop_incognito



Series: 365 Drabbles [11]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Pointless, Short One Shot, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pop_incognito/pseuds/pop_incognito
Summary: Snake gets sent on a rather unpleasant errand.





	11/01/2019: This Is Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely pointless, and has no impact on anything. I had a plan that I forgot to flesh out properly, and I needed to write something today. I apologise.

The scent of death overwhelms even Snake himself, whose sense of smell is nowhere near as strong as those of his slithering friends, all curled up inside his tailcoat and down his sleeves. Snake hisses, his thin scales rippling as a shiver rolls over his body. There is something unnervingly familiar under all that stench and decay, something almost… homely. A distant memory of something long gone.

Sebastian has sent Snake on an errand to request some information from a person called ‘Undertaker’, a crisp piece of parchment covered in Sebastian’s elegant hand tucked into the inner pocket of Snake’s coat. Snake is of the understanding that the young master and his butler usually visit this informant in person, but he had caught the tail of a comment insinuating that Snake’s mere presence would ‘suffice as payment’, whatever that meant. He has long since learned better than to question the strange words often thrown around in the Phantomhive manor.

And so, Snake has found himself standing just inside the undertaker’s place of work and presumed residence, quietly gagging on the foul taste of the air.

Unnerving giggles reach his ears, and Snake jolts on the spot, turning on his nimble toes in search of the sound. Emily hisses from his cuff, unsettled as she pokes her snout out to inspect their surroundings for herself. “This place reeks of danger, says Emily,” Snake mumbles, and his fingers twitch anxiously.

“Now this is something I don’t see every day,” a reedy voice says, Snake’s hair ruffling around his ear as hot breath wafts over the back of his neck. Snake lets out an ungodly yelp, whirling on the spot so quickly that poor Donne flies out of his collar into the darkness of the shop. “How intriguing.”

The person before Snake is all black robes and long silver hair, a manic grin slashing pale skin marred by thin scars and precise stitches. Slender hands tipped with black nails that are more talons than anything else reach out to touch Snake’s face curiously, that grin splitting even wider, a stitch over dimpled cheeks threatening to unravel with the overtly sinister action.

“S-stay back, says Emily,” Snake hisses, hackles rising in the presence of this person who tastes just as inhuman as Sebastian, but looks it all the same. Snake does not know what creature lives in the Phantomhive manor, masquerading as a butler, but he knows better than to question the one who has provided him bed, board, work, and the promise of finding his family. “Do not touch him, adds Keats.”

Ignoring the snake – most people usually do, other than Snake himself – the presumed Undertaker cups Snake’s face in his cold hands, the razor tips of those talons pressing into Snake’s scaled temples. “Fascinating, are these real?” the Undertaker asks, and Snake shrieks when a nail slides under one of his scales and a second descends on top. With a none-to gentle tug, the scale is ripped free, and Snake howls in pain, yanking himself away and curling in on himself in shock. “Marvellous!” And then the laughter starts up, building from those manic giggles into full, booming roars that shake the very walls.

Snake is left watching this crazed man laugh himself silly with Snake’s bloody scale pierced on the tip of his talon. Tears stream down their cheeks alike, though for vastly different reasons. Wilde ventures right out of Snake’s tailcoat to rub comfortingly over the bleeding spot on his face as Snake whimpers under his breath.

“What a laugh, I spend decades toying with things I shouldn’t touch just for the fun of it, and a real hybrid just crosses my path!” the Undertaker heaves around his laughs, clutching at his stomach like he is mere seconds from toppling over from the force of it. “The little earl certainly knows how to get what he wants out of me!” And he turns to Snake properly, dropping down on his haunches in a rather catlike fashion.

Snake searches the expanse of silver fringe for any glimpse of an eye – Joker often touted eyes as the window to the soul – and is constantly denied the sight of one, leaving him floundering for any way of reading this terrifying man. However, the mention of his master spurs Snake to action, and he withdraws the letter with shaking hands, holding it out in silence, hoping to be gone soon.

The Undertaker’s laugh is still ringing in his ears. It seems that this is his life then, Snake finds himself bitterly thinking, turning his face to the side as he cradles the scabbing wound. _No matter where I go, I am nothing more than a fascination for people to laugh at._ He yearns for the day when the Earl Phantomhive finally frees him and points him in the direction of his family.

Snake startles when the letter is brandished in his face, the inked reply still shiny in the poor light of the room, and the Undertake grins at him again, teeth far too white and decidedly dangerous. “Here now, run this back to the earl. That should answer his questions.” When Snake takes the letter and tucks it back into his coat, the hands return to his face and he freezes in fear of more pain. “Tell him that I will take you as regular payment if his charming butler ever grows tired of his comedy routine.”

“We shall do no such thing, says Emily,” Snake snaps, the tips of his fangs pricking his lip.

The only reaction he gets is more laughter, and he takes his leave when those horrible hands fall to the Undertaker’s sides once more.

On his way out, Snake’s eyes are caught by the flash of pale white bone, and he stares in morbid fascination at a fully articulated skeletal arm sitting on a cabinet in the corner, a bone-handled dagger resting beside it. Just the sight of it makes his blood turn cold, though he can’t even begin to fathom why. More giggling sees him out as he tears his eyes away from the bones and leaves the Undertaker’s lair in a fit, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> If someone maybe liked this, consider dropping a comment or leaving kudos?


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